


Minne

by ThirstyForRed



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirstyForRed/pseuds/ThirstyForRed
Summary: Saskia has trouble sleeping and thinks about her feelings toward the elf.
Relationships: Iorveth/Saskia (The Witcher)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Minne

The bed is too soft, the room too hot, the sheets keep sliding off the body, even the sleeping Iorveth, though curled up on the very edge of the bedframe, seems to take too much space. Everything is somehow wrong.

Saskia holds out her hand, with outstretched fingers, it looks monstrous, terribly pale against the shadows and dark ceiling. So wrong. So... unsuitable.

Because she has skin, fair and pleasant in touch, instead of hard, brown scales. Because she has nails, strong by human standards, painted in a nice color, and not razor-sharp claws.

She sighs quietly and turns sideways, facing her elf. Her little elf.

It's good to have him so close, on hand. Because he already knows everything, even if she always can tell him more. About this desire to get out, to the skies, to the canyons, the mountains, be herself again and be able to fly. Only he knows. And she trusts him with this knowledge because all he ever asked for was to be with her - and she can grant him his wish.

He is her friend. Yes, that's it. There's no need for bigger words.

She listened to ballads, Jaskier's and other poets, but, although she understands the main concept, she can't relate it to herself, her own feelings. Maybe because, as a rule, men feel differently? Or maybe everyone, every single person, feel love differently, in their own way?

Or maybe that's simple biology? Dragons know no love, no romanticism about which poems and songs could be written. Dragons copulate, brutally, in the fight, shedding blood and spitting fire. And this can not be translated into her relationship with the elf. Because she wouldn't hurt him, ever. And she wouldn't leave, wouldn't fly away hatch the eggs in peace. Even if that was possible with their incompatible biology...

Iorveth, though broken, broken like a toy and left forgotten, it was visible in his eyes when they were alone, he loves. Yes... strongly and with such devotion that it's disarming. Unreal. That you could even love like that...

She moves a little, moves on the bed, and he blinks, half sleepy, half alerted. She reaches out and pulls him closer, away from the edge of the bed, to herself, to the warmth. Because she feels, even though his shirt and quilt, that he is cold and trembling, and she's always warm anyway. Advantages of being literally filled with fire and magic.

Iorveth looks with that green eye, beautiful forest green, remaining silent.

She hugs him, covers them with another duvet, tries to finally fall asleep.


End file.
